Eggnog Shots: Once Upon a Time
by rainy-october-972
Summary: A few fluffy oneshots dedicated to celebrating the holiday season in Storybrooke and beyond. Part of my annual challenge to myself to write a new story every day for the majority of December. Pairing suggestions/scene ideas are greatly encouraged!
1. Finally: SwanFire

The room was dark and silent when Neal slipped through the door, but he knew it was not unoccupied. Accustomed now to the kind of quiet that meant she was trying to fall asleep but hadn't succeeded, he could feel her breathing somewhere deep inside him, could sense how she must be laying on the left side of the bed (his side, although he never complained). He smiled and closed the door softly behind him; it whispered on the carpet slightly before enclosing him fully in the stillness.

She, too, could feel him enter, could imagine the mass of his silhouette gently making its way over to join her. She lay still for a moment more before stirring, raising her upper body and pulling herself into a sitting position, back pressed against the wall. "Is he asleep?" she asked, voice only increments over a murmur.

"Out like a light. About time, too. He kept asking me questions about Christmas in the Enchanted Forest." Neal chuckled softly. "I told him he'd see for himself soon enough, but he still wanted to know every detail."

"That's my boy."

"Don't you think surprises are nice once in a while?"

"No. I like to know exactly what I'm getting myself into." Emma's voice was not without a hint of irony.

"Well, that's unfortunate. It definitely makes holidays harder," he said, alluding to a previous argument.

"Good. I take great pride in being difficult."

"I know you do."

He took off his slippers and got into bed carefully; she shifted to allow him to lean into her in that perfect complementary curve they had mastered years ago. He touched her shoulder, and she rested her head on his. "I suppose I don't mind a few surprises," she whispered. "Special cases."

"Oh, like me?" Neal said teasingly. "Well, that's a relief."

"Idiot," Emma said, but snuggled closer. "You're just lucky I believe in second chances."

"That I am."

They sat in silence for a few moments, synchronizing their breathing and heartbeats without really trying, feeling the darkness of the room and the absence of emptiness. Remembering a year ago, the two vastly different memories and rooms but with the same level of lonely. Then Emma found herself staring at the clock on the wall. 12:07 AM. Then, 12:08.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?" His body angled unconsciously towards her.

"Merry Christmas."

He, too, looked at the clock, then smiled – her eyes had now penetrated the unknowable dark and clung on to his features – and said, "Merry Christmas, Emma."

"Should we go tell him?"

He thought a moment before answering. "No, I think he can wait until morning." Then he laughed and added, "Though it wouldn't surprise me if he already knows."

"True." Then, "I hope he likes it."

"I know he will. He's got us, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. And we've got him."

"We do," Neal agreed. "And so much more." He raised his hand from where it lay on top of the sheets and carefully lifted her chin from his shoulder, then leaned over and kissed her – slow and undemanding, yet underlined by a desperate promise – a vow that they always would have this, their own small piece of perfection, their home with and within each other. And it would have gone on forever, perhaps, had not the door been suddenly and audibly opened, breaking them away from each other as they both turned to look, half-knowing already, half-smiling.

Henry's feet never could be completely quiet, though he had tried countless times and both parents had spent fruitless hours trying to teach him. He bounded through the door, whispering, "Mom? Dad? It's Christ- oh, whoops." He stopped a couple yards from the bed. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Watch it, kid," Emma said warningly, then sighed. "Okay, okay. Come in," she said, shaking her head half in wonderment and half amusement. "Close the door, will you?"

He did so loudly, then clambered into the bed earnestly. "Whoa, there," Neal said, laughing and reaching over to stroke his hair. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? Santa Claus won't come if you're awake, you know."

Henry rolled his eyes and nestled in between the two of them. "Dad! It's officially Christmas. Plus, _you're _awake. Plus, Santa Claus? Really? That's obviously a hoax."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "So you can believe all the fairytales stuff, but you draw the line at Santa?"

"Duh. He lives at the North Pole and yet somehow manages to get millions of brand-name toys to millions of kids in commercially overflowing countries? In one night? Please."

Emma laughed. "He's got some fair points." She leaned over and kissed her son on his forehead, and he closed his eyes. "Between you and me, Henry, I never believed in any of that, either."

"So I can stay?"

Neal looked at Emma. She shrugged and said, "Why not?"

He sighed. "I suppose so. But you've gotta try to go to sleep, okay? Or at least pretend to. Certain people are tired, and I suspect you're not so immune to it either."

"Okay!" Henry snuggled down further in the blankets, and Neal covered himself with them as well, sliding into his usual sleeping position, albeit with a restless twelve-year-old boy pressed into his side instead of the usual softness of Emma.

The silence lasted about thirty seconds, then –

"Do they have Santa Claus in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Henry!" came from both sides of the bed.

"But do they, Dad?"

"No," came the muffled reply. "They don't. Now go to sleep."

"Okay, fine. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, Henry."

"Goodnight."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, kid."


	2. No Music: MadHook

Jefferson leaned against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You gonna sit there all day?" he asked.

"Might as well," Killian said, with the ghost of a scowl on his face. "You can't decide what to do."

"Excuse me? I believe it's you who's been vetoing all of my suggestions."

"Yeah, and you're the one who can't make good suggestions."

Jefferson sighed. "Fine, then. What do _you _want to do?"

Killian smiled and nodded at the bed meaningfully.

Jefferson crossed his arms, exasperated. "No. We are not going to have sex. We are going to go out and do something Christmassy."

"Must we really? I think it's far too cold to be outside."

Jefferson ignored this reference – he hated Christmas songs, and Killian knew it far too well. "Then we won't be outside. We can go to a nice café for tea if you'd like, or we could go shopping, or-"

Killian laughed. "Shopping."

The hatter shrugged. "As far as I recall, you haven't gotten anything for Grace yet," he reminded him.

"What, like I'm going to find something appropriate in this sham of a town? There's not even a shopping mall."

"There are some nice antique stores."

"Let's go ice skating."

Jefferson blinked at him for a moment, then said, "You want to go ice skating?"

The pirate shook his head. "No, I suppose I don't."

Jefferson groaned and pressed his hands to his face as if trying to iron it. "Come on, Killian. We have two hours until she gets home from Granny's party. Please, just let me have this one afternoon to do something festive."

"I suppose." He heaved himself up from the bed and walked over to the doorway, locking eyes with Jefferson. As he got closer he whispered, "But only if you let me have the evening."

"Fine," the shorter man said, meeting the smolder with his own steady gaze. Killian responded to the challenge by leaning in closer and kissing Jefferson full on, steady, aggressive, the kind of kiss he used to get his way.

"Let's go, then," he said when Jefferson finally managed to break away, giving him a wink before striding into the kitchen.

"Where are we going?" the hatter asked, following behind.

"Dunno, love. It's your afternoon, after all."

"Okay, I have to admit, this is rather nice."

They were seated at a worn wooden booth next to the fireplace, sipping hot drinks – tea had won out as usual for Jefferson, though Killian had offered to share his hazelnut latte – and gazing through the window at the snow that was softly but surely coming to halfheartedly bury the town for a few days before the imminent thaw. Snow looked good on Storybrooke, but must not have thought so itself, for it never lingered too long. Even now, Jefferson could see the swirling clumps of crystalline water drifting toward the black cement only to be obliterated upon contact.

"See, it doesn't hurt to get out of the house."

"All right, so there are some nice spots in this rubbish town."

Jefferson laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The captain held his gaze for a moment longer – not the rough, challenging kind, like earlier, but rather as if he was trying to see past the features he had long since acquainted himself with. For some reason, Jefferson felt a need to look away, so he turned back to the smudged glass, feeling still those belligerent blue eyes. Then Killian spoke again.

"You know, it's quite impressive that you still manage to puzzle me," he mused, still staring.

"After three whole months, huh? Figure the others out within a week, huh?" Jefferson replied with a touch of sarcasm.

"Usually," he said smoothly. Jefferson wanted to look away again, but didn't this time.

"Well, you know what they say." His tone was dry. "Mad as a hatter."

"Indeed. Luckily for you," Killian sipped his coffee, a distant gleam in his eye, "I happen to find it endearing."

"I suppose it is lucky. Lucky you understand a bit about madness within."

The pirate only nodded. For a long moment, neither spoke; this time it was Killian who turned to the window and Jefferson who continued to watch him. Tracing the line of his jaw with his eyes and wondering how long it took to sail away from Neverland, exactly.

But they didn't speak of those things – the past was, as of now, one of the few realms forbidden to the two travelers – so Jefferson only picked up his mug and wrapped his hands around it, allowing the warmth to seep through his fingers and down into his bones.

Their separate, quiet reflection was interrupted abruptly: the soft jazz music playing overhead changed with a sudden _click_, and out flowed one of Jefferson's greatest irritations. "_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…_"

"Goddamn it," he said loudly, causing a couple nearby to jump and stare as he set down his mug with an angry exhalation.

Killian turned back to him quickly, a smirk on his face.

Jefferson narrowed his eyes, then said, "I think I've had enough tea."

"As you wish," the pirate said, standing up in a sweeping motion and removing Jefferson's coat from the back of his chair, which he then offered to him. "I await your next direction."

Jefferson only rolled his eyes, pulling on the coat and taking a final swig of Earl Grey before heading toward the door. Killian followed, but not before saying, "I reckon you just need a little Christmas."

"Do you want to be murdered?" Jefferson tossed back as they exited the shop.

"What are you going to do, attack me with a needle? I'm afraid I'm not terribly frightened, love."

"You should be," he muttered, but slowed his steps slightly, now that they were safely outside and sheltered from unwanted effing Christmas music by the snow falling even more thickly around them. Killian caught up, falling into step with him quietly. Jefferson thought he was probably still smirking, but refused to check.

They walked the length of one and a half blocks in silence, the tense silence softening into a comfortable, familiar even, rhythm. As Jefferson turned a corner at the dilapidated car repair shop, heading in the general direction of the forest, Killian finally reached over and grabbed his hand. "So, where are we going now, then?" he asked.

Jefferson accepted the steady pressure like it was the most natural thing in the world, though they had only really been this, well, _coupley _a few times before in public. The relative newness of their "arrangement," as he preferred to think of it, still made it a bit awkward, but the awkwardness was eased by how easy it was to be with Killian. Sometimes, when Jefferson was feeling particularly sappy (which usually happened after too-long weekends with Grace), he thought perhaps it was destined somehow. He shook the thought loose with the snowflakes in his hair, however, and answered nonchalantly.

"You'll see."

"That's fair," the pirate answered, smiling a little as though amused. Jefferson didn't say anything more, but continued walking. Past the used appliances shop, past another café, and past the end of the pavement. He could somehow feel Killian's smile creeping farther up his face as he led him to the edge of the trees, then past that too, into the separate world of pine needle canopies and gentle hills and hidden snowbanks.

They continued on silently for about five minutes, until Killian finally burst out, "Okay, honestly, where are we going, Hatter?"

"You'll see," Jefferson said again. It was his turn to smirk now.

Killian sighed a little. "I do hope it's worth it. I'm getting snow in my boots.

"Maybe you should have gone for utility rather than fashion," he replied.

"Like hell," he muttered. "I don't know if you're aware, but pirates don't ordinarily tramp through piles of snow in the middle of nowhere."

"Ah, but piles of snow in the middle of nowhere are my favorite thing," the hatter said smoothly. He bumped his companion's shoulder gently. "Anyway, don't worry, we're almost there."

"I should hope so."

A minute later, they burst through a particularly thick copse of trees and into a small clearing. Killian slowed a bit and said "Ah," quietly. In the middle of the clearing stood an old, barely-standing sort of shed, only it was shaped a bit like a castle – like a castle built by someone with no architectural or artistic expertise whatsoever. Despite this, though, there was something about it that seemed _right_. A bit of magic, perhaps.

They approached slowly, then Jefferson stepped forward to open the worryingly loose door. "After you," he said, bowing, and Killian entered the building, after a raised-eyebrows look at the hatter.

Killian joined him in the central – and only – room, a surprisingly well-put-together place filled with mismatched stools and tables. And hats.

"There must be hundreds," Killian said softly, turning to Jefferson. "Is this yours, then?"

He nodded. "I used to work out here. Before I got the mansion." He didn't specify how, exactly, that had happened. "I don't come here very often anymore. I don't know why today, really, I just wanted to take a look."

The pirate turned back to the myriad tables and shelves, walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, stopping to inspect a hat or brush dust off another. "It's quite impressive," he muttered. "None of them worked?"

Jefferson flinched a little at the word, but shook his head. "No." Then, "Not like I thought they would, anyway."

"I'm sorry." They locked eyes again. Then Jefferson shook his head again.

"It's not important anymore. Anyway, we should go now." He suddenly felt the pressure of the hundreds of hats around him, was afraid to look at any of them in case they somehow could bring back those strange, dark years. "Sorry. I don't know why I came here."

Killian looked at him a moment more, then returned to his side and took Jefferson's hand again, knowing the cues already, after just three months. Jefferson would have said thank you if he weren't focused on pushing it away, pushing it all back, refusing to let the madness in. If he faltered for just a moment, he might be lost.

"It's all right. We're done here. Let's go back to the house." He guided Jefferson, still a bit stiff, back out through the door. "I'm freezing, anyway. As you so kindly pointed out, my clothes aren't exactly suited for this weather."

"You could have borrowed my coat," the hatter managed to mutter. "You can't say I didn't offer."

"True, but I had no idea that this would be such an expedition."

Together they walked away from the dilapidated shed, then by some unspoken agreement stopped again at the edge of the trees and looked up. The contrast of the snow-laden fir branches to the slate grey sky made them both catch their breath for a moment, and they blinked away snowflakes for a minute, staring up as if searching for that elusive second star to the right. Or something startling, anyway.

Then Killian squeezed Jefferson's hand gently but firmly and said, "Come on, love. It's beautiful, but I can think of several more beautiful things that I'd rather be staring at right now. And, preferably, in a place that doesn't make me feel like an icicle."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "Really? What exactly do you have in mind, Captain?"

Killian shrugged. "You, me, perhaps a bit of rum…You'll see."

Jefferson chuckled. "Fair enough. Thank you for putting up with my afternoon. Was it suitably un-Christmassy for you?"

"It was, in fact. Except for the music. I could have used some more music."

"What were you saying about getting me in bed?"

"Right. No music necessary. Not for a long time."

"Correct answer." Jefferson leaned over to kiss his pirate's slightly flushed cheek – not a strong kiss not a schoolgirl's kiss, but rather one that was perfectly Jefferson – and then slid his arm between Killian's own and his side, quickening his steps slightly. "Now that you mention it, I am getting a bit cold."


End file.
